


Hate Her To Death

by PornimMaryam



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/M, Sexual Content, Troll Romance, Unhealthy Relationships, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:14:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PornimMaryam/pseuds/PornimMaryam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I haven't wrote a fan fiction since I was 13 so I'm hopping on a huge train here. I have no idea what I'm doing and I expect to write this slowly. I'm not sure if I'll cut this into chapters or what.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't wrote a fan fiction since I was 13 so I'm hopping on a huge train here. I have no idea what I'm doing and I expect to write this slowly. I'm not sure if I'll cut this into chapters or what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re-edited and updated some parts, adding extra shit as of 11/17/2013

He knew how incredible she was and the was the problem. It made it impossible to find a blind spot within her own eyes to tear down those self confident walls that she wore. Even outside the guise of a ridiculous and most childish dragon costume, Terezi Pyrope made Gamzee Makara felt at the most, completely confused and utterly frustrated. Nothing she wore made her seem more or less perfect, and it made the clown feel sick to know he could not deny these feelings to himself. That sour feeling in the bit of his stomach came with knowledge as if she were better than him, regardless of how he let her see it. It was in the way she walked with that confident stride and cane in hand, always questioning, always logical in her methods, muttering to herself when she thought she was alone; setting up fake cases against Gamzee to bide her lonesome time for when she could finally have him and judge him for the lives that he took so early. Gamzee just wanted to shut that pretty little mouth up and make those soft grey cheeks stained with her own teal tears. He wanted to see her make up run and ruin that confident glow on her face as she slowly broke apart in his presence. Terezi Pyrope was completely unforgettable. No sort of escape could make him want to tear himself away from her completely, for he needed her to fuel and direct his rage in a most healthy way, even though for Terezi, this relationship was far from a typical kismesistude. She wore his anger around her like a noose to her own neck, slowly suffocating from each encounter she had with him, determined to bring him down. She wanted to own and control him, not to be owned or controlled. Gamzee knew her day would come, hoped and wished for it, but not once gave her the satisfaction of her getting close to victory.

Undeniable would also describe the feelings Gamzee had for this teal blooded beauty. Everything she spat out to him had a particular sting to it, because every damn thing she said in retort to his intimidating lines had more truth in it than he'd ever admit. She didn’t need to know how close she got each time they were together, to the core in which made Gamzee tick. That very core that she almost had within her grasp a few times, the very thing she could squeeze to end this sustaining game. If this gorgeous little bitch had even a good clue to how right she was in her words, the magic of this kismesis relationship would fizzle out, and then Gamzee would be left back into the darkness in which he felt was already inching closer to him, threatening to devour any life left within his mentality. She kept him sane in a lot of respects, even though the price for that was her own sanity. He hated that he relied on her like that, it was sick and it was wrong, and so was she. 

Breath taking was not just the feeling that came with the strangulation fetish Terezi Pyrope had when she held the reins tight on Gamzee, topping him completely into domination when she _did_ manage to get the upper hand, rope ready to tie around the purple blood’s neck with the grin of one who was winning trial and whose harsh tone delivered the most severe lashings of the very reality that could bash into clowns pride. These were things never talked about, for even in his worst moments, when Gamzee would choke up on his bitter insults with a flushed face from the intensity of Terezi’s clown-on-a-leash routine, a very routine that she so often took joy in, to test how long the clown would last before passing out, Gamzee would stubbornly refuse to acknowledge her being right. He would rather pass out from lack of air, only to be laughed and mocked later, for his inability to see their foreplay through. His choice in humiliation spoke for the things that he wouldn't, that he was proving her right without admitting she was valid in all she accused him of being. Only, Terezi had long since lost the very mind that could pick up on these things, obsessed within a haze of hate and her own self loathing. Senses dulled, eyesight gained, the Libra was blinder than she ever had been in her life.

When the lights went out and one or the other passed out, there was that lingering loneliness that came with the victor sitting there, mulling over their own feelings, emotions, and mixed rage. In those quiet moments, it was then that the thoughts came, creeping in with that sour negativity and the drop in the gut as if maybe, just maybe, you were _all_ those things the other said during foreplay. But, after all was said and done, they were both just completely alone and enveloped in trying to dominate the other with taunts and reminders of the other's failures to overcompensate for their own insecurities. Scratches aplenty, bruises beautifully executed, and bite marks sunk deep, were the very trophies they bore. Whoever came out more coherent, regardless of the damage done physically, won. But damn did it feel something good when you could get up the next day, looking at your most disgusting lover, their hair more disheveled than previously, clothing beyond repair, just like their ego.

Sometimes Gamzee would be able to sneak in a little prank from his winnings by painting her nails in his caste color, or using her pants to wipe the mess between his legs, coating them to the point Terezi wouldn't dare wear them. She would rather walk around in her scalemate boxers than shame herself in messy, leftover fluids from their sex, that were wiped on her clothing. And although everyone knew about their vicious romps, she refused to become more messy than she already was.


	2. Hate Her To Death Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I would split this up a bit in chapters, so things didn't get too long. It's probably not exactly right, but the hell do I know? Anywho, I'll be working on this very page for a bit, so if you find yourself fascinated, you might want to check back on this from time to time.

The thing about Terezi Pyrope was the mysterious way that she seemed to creep up on the clown's thoughts when he least expected them to come, and in such a venomous way that left the painted troll writhing in his attempts to find sleep. Her words stuck like a glue trap, keeping him from moving forward. And maybe in his own right, he didn’t exactly want to achieve what he was meant to. Maybe Gamzee looked forward to the fight, and his slow undoing. With her, she could make all the wrongs right. She knew how to use her words as a weapon and she didn’t have to beat him senselessly; that was just a courtesy she bestowed on the Bard of Rage, Terezi's own way for justifying all the times she felt haunted for having to off a precious friend, for all the unspoken truths in the eyes of her most hated mate waiting to be exorcised from his throat. Keeping Gamzee alive was vital. He gave her the sense of power so brief that she lingered on the hope that one day, that would last, that he wouldn’t push her back down, that when all was said and done, she would come out on top. Terezi would be the victor, not the clown. He didn’t _deserve_ any happiness, any sort of reprieve. All the hells in Alternia, in the _universe_ itself, was too good for Gamzee Makara.

Something about the life of the most disgusting and almost-repelling clown made this teal blood curious. There was a switch there, and it seemed that light was always on, always shining Gamzee right at the Libra's face in the most obnoxious fashion. How funny it almost seemed, that someone could go from one way to another. How it bugged every part of her, leaving her with nights and days of sleep deprivation that would leave her confused on how one day could melt into another. How she got to the level she was at now. Maybe that's why the crashes were so hard after a fight, maybe that's why after all that sugary intake, Terezi would find herself in a daze. It almost seemed as if she could be in a coma, the way lights and sounds, even pushes and shoves wouldn't wake her. This kismesistude was the slow thick syrup, clogging up her senses and playing things at such an abated rate, that this fast thinking troll could no longer make sense of the world in front of her as she became engulfed and enraptured in the sweet stickiness that was of one unhealthy hate affair. 

Some instances, Terezi would end up crawling up to the vents to hide out like the mess she was, the exact sort of mess she made fun of Gamzee for being, only to pass out after she would berate herself, whispering silent curses to her spade. It was in those times that when Terezi would pass out in these oddest of places, that it would be a mother fucking miracle, as one would put it, that she'd be found when sought out. This was an exhausting relationship, one that Pyrope wanted to get to the bottom of. Uprooting the problem seemed counterproductive when she couldn't even uproot the person she wasn't sure she could measure up to be. Who _did_ she want to be again? No one was sure who Terezi had become in the mess of this unhealthy kismesis. Not Karkat, not Dave, not even Terezi herself knew who this once lively troll wilted down to become, or would ever be. As for Gamzee, that was hard to say with that mysterious clown. That stupid son of a bitch and that smug attractive grin on his face, how the girl wanted to slap it until it was bruised and bleeding. Would he, could he continue smile that way? It was a thought enough to make the teal blood smug. One day, one day she would get him good. The smiles would be wiped off just like that repugnant paint he wore on his cold, dry face. _Smile now, you stupid chucklefuck. Smile now, 'coz you won't when be you're at the end of this rope! I want to watch the light go out of your face when you realize I hold the power. I will hold it. I will. That stupid smile will slowly die when you can't be the one pulling the punches anymore. I will be your ruin, Gamzee. It will be me. No one else, just me. I can not wait to taste your final moments of bliss, get to experiencing something sweet turning so sour. You see Gamzee, my tongue has tasted a lot of delicious flavors, but you will be the most delicious and satisfying of them all!_

These precious little words were said over and over in Terezi's mind, for everyday that she was coherent enough to remember what her purpose was, she would be doing a dangerous dance with a crazed clown. It was the only way she could stay above surface enough to keep on a decent fight, even though it seemed she had been slipping deeper and deeper into a depressive state. The words she rehearsed to herself became the light to keep her going, the light that she had watched put out, came in another form now and that was the injustice for how things had turned out.

It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair how Gamzee Makara would twist around the knowledge he had about her to make her remember what a horrible person she had been in the past. It was a low blow for him to pull one about Vriska, as if Terezi wasn't always thinking about the responsibility that came after offing a person she shared a sort of friendship with. And sure, Vriska was trouble and it was probably a good idea that she was put down, but Terezi often felt like Vriska's death haunted her more than Vriska's antics combined. She remembered how Vriska seemed so confident in her statement, telling Terezi that one day she will hurt someone so much, and that she'll want to take it back but it will be too late. She remembered telling Terezi how much she doubted that. At the time, Vriska's apologizes seemed too apathetic to you, and you dismissed everything she said entirely. Now, Vriska was coming back to haunt Terezi in the form of Gamzee Makara.

Being reminded by your own kismesis of your insecurities was like being stripped naked for all to see. He new how guilty Terezi felt over Vriska's death, because in the shadows, he had watched her through the states of her mourning and denials. He knew she had attempted to carry off a backbone too big for her skin, and he knew he could use this as one dirty advantage to lower hers. Dirty tricks, dirty games, they were all the things Gamzee wanted to play. In her moments where she felt she held some power over him, trying to under hand him with her own reminders of what a monster he turned out to be, Terezi often questioned if Gamzee had any ability to feel remorse. He never shown a single ounce of remorse since his final episode, and she doubted he ever would. How could someone like Gamzee Makara become the person he is today, with any remorse in his soul? How could he feel any drop of regret, when she was struggling to keep strong every single day with the regret that swam inside her? 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finding it hard, especially after these updates, to continue on with this story. I will trudge through though. These small updates in my stories hardly suffice, but I can't seem to find the willpower to write with all these arguments about their relationship.

Sitting alone with his back to the wall of a dark room, knees pulled to his chest, Gamzee Makara was alone with his thoughts. It had been some time since he had seen, much less harassed Terezi. He was yearning just to hear that annoying voice scrape against his pan, creating a god awful and yet hauntingly beautiful echo inside, complexing the clown and his emotions. If Gamzee ever paid her a compliment, it was always laced with foul words of discouragement and mockery. What he'd just _kill_ to have his hands around that soft little neck of hers, to hear her struggle and fight for breath. He liked the way her nails dug into his skin, making his sexual appetite come alive. Nothing felt as good as the pain that she inflicted on him, nothing could match that satisfaction when he could hear he whimper, her eyes pleading with him to stop hurting her over the boundaries of what she could take. She would try, she would fight, piercing the skin with those nails. Terezi would drag those very nails down the clown's skin, sending him shivering with goosebumps. Nothing was worth more than her fighting back, or attempting to in most cases.

Terezi was weakening more and more as of late, leaving Gamzee frustrated with no sense of light to the dark blindness of his own misery. In so many ways, she gave him sight for the times he was blind in his rage. For this reason, he relied on her so much that he was really the weak one, using her as a crutch. She had no idea, no mother fucking idea how precious she was to him and how vital she had become. This addiction was making him sick, and for the times that he couldn't have her he could feel a sense of losing. He was so tired, so restless, so entirely suffocated by the fact that he might have to start going his days without her. And who was he if he didn't have Terezi? What could even make sense anymore without her to make him feel like he had power? She was the source of everything that he felt he couldn't be. She was saving his life while he was draining hers, and he could see that, others could see that too. Except, when he could stop, he didn't. He was taking this relationship down and trying to pull what he could of the Libra with him. He should have been more sorry than he expressed it, but he was selfish and stubborn, only wanting to take and take, to leave Terezi with a sense of emptiness while he felt fulfilled for those few hours afterwards, lavishing in her misery and sucking in the goodness that came with someone being as miserable, if not more, than he himself.

Today had to happen. Today _needed_ to happen. Gamzee had a yearning and a burning inside of him, which only made him needy for the venomous attacks and attempts from his much abused Kismesis. Beautiful, broken, trouble little Kismesis. Maybe today of all days would be different if he sought Terezi out. Maybe she would finally be the one to put him down, in the most slow and agonizing way possible. Or maybe today would prove to be just another attempt to fulfill a deep desire for destruction, in the deepest of ways a clown, who knew very well of his mistakes, could ever feel. True, Terezi was sexually satisfying. There was nothing but pure enjoyment at her physical condition, giving Gamzee a hunger and need to set her up for a delicious failure, testing the limits of what she could or could not take. He loved the way his nails could sink into the skin at her shoulders, the way she would wince and grit her teeth, trying to keep on a hard look as if the pain didn't register towards her. He liked how it seemed she pushed him to do the things he did. For any lack of response from Terezi, came a harder hit, a deeper bite, a stinging slap. Any marks he made to the Libra went without any other troll seeing. That was the plan nowadays, for he was starting to let the paranoia set in that he might lose Terezi completely if he kept on with letting her wear her marks in open areas. Too many mother fuckers were getting suspicious, and that shit wasn't okay. Gamzee was afraid, afraid and needy. Only Terezi could ease his suffering, only she could prolong it, and only she could be his end. Nothing bothered and yet amused him more than playing her game and beating her at it, but he longed for _that day_ to come, when he would be at the receiving line of the ultimate failure. Gamzee pictured today would end up the same, having let the hope that his Kismesis would pick up the slack and show some luster and life into her fights. Who was he kidding though? Toys were prone to breaking if you played with them too often.


End file.
